"Shows? How many has he…"
"I don't know."
"I thought the Nistam was a monster, but…"
"Yeh. And talking about the Nistam, I have no doubt at all that Ginny's stuck his thumb in your rebellion and he's still beavering away on both sides to make the hate come stronger and the fighting worse. He buys men and women, you know, he uses people like he's using us, tricking them into doing what he wants." Agitated and uncertain, she pushed her hands back and forth along her thighs, her palms catching on the zippers; she didn't want to say the rest of it, but she was sick of lying. "We got word out to our families, we had to, you know, we used your high Hoofta's own skipcom, they're coming for us…" she laced her fingers and squeezed palm against palm, "they're a long way off, eighty-three days altogether, though it's less than fifty now, they'll have started as soon as they heard… the thing is, my people… Ginny's afraid of them… I'm afraid… because of us… as soon as he gets the pictures he wants… boom! Good-bye evidence. Which means good-bye Kiskai." She forced a smile. "Makes it rather silly to play at suicide, don't you think?"
"That the point of this… this… whatever it is?"
"No point, really. I just got tired of playing games. There's still room for maneuvering, it's pretty damn hopeless, but, well, to be honest, the only times I've contemplated suiciding myself is when I'm petrified with boredom and the one thing you can say about this mess, it's not boring."
Miowee stared at Shadith for several minutes, then switched round on her stomach and wriggled to the edge of the bunk so she could see the grill. "He's watching us? Now? Through that maybe?"
"Through that? Not him. Weasel-face maybe, not him, he doesn't work that crude. Probably is watching, I'm one of his catalyst points, his stars, you might say. That's a guess, there's no way I can be sure."
"Why not? You seem to know everything else."
"I've a Talent, not omniscience. You can't see or detect EYEs, that's the point of them."
"What Talent?"
"Not mindreading." She turned her head, tilted it back. "You hear that, Jakal? You can relax now. Your secrets are safe."
"I see."
"You Kiskaids say that a lot."
The door clanged open, two kanaweh came in, separated and stood on either side of it with weapons drawn. Miowee snickered.
They ignored her, though there was a brassy tinge to their ears, and waited with punctilious rigidity for whoever it was they were escorting to appear in the doorway.
Shadith was not greatly surprised to see Makwahkik walk in. She sat where she was, her mood turning peculiar on her, a swimmy feeling like she had in the first days after she was shot; her emotions had been yanked around so much recently, it was as if she'd been put in a wringer and squeezed dry. She was surprised when he pulled a chair out from the wall and sat down, she'd expected to be hauled off and questioned about the Banger.
"I want to make some things quite clear," he said. "Do you hear me?"
She blinked at him, shrugged.
"Do you hear me?"
"Yes."
"The woman there will go with you at all times; you will not be touched, whatever you do. Any punishment you earn, she gets, so think hard. Singer, before you act…" he paused for emphasis, then went on, "and speak.
I'm telling you now, say nothing to disturb the people training you. And I don't want quibbling about what I mean by disturbed, I'm sure you're quite aware what subjects should be avoided. Do you hear me?"
"There's a cycle of twenty-seven songs you'll have to learn within the next two weeks. That instrument of yours isn't suitable, we'll provide one, the Paleka Kitskew." His streaky eyes flicked to Miowee at the squeak startled out of her, shifted back to Shadith. "The Gospah Ayawit has consented to its use. It's a stringed instrument like the one you were given in the infirmary, only bigger. I've been told the fingerings aren't complicated and shouldn't present any great problems to a musician of your ability." Once again he turned to Miowee. "You know the songs, you'll play with the Singer, rehearse her until she does them properly." He examined the streetsinger's frozen face, bared his teeth in a grin as much a threat as any of the Ciocan's, though he lacked the Dyslaeror's tearing fangs. "You have a daughter. Yes. We found her. You didn't expect that, did you? No. But what's a little betrayal beside your treachery, traitor? The Singer's misdeeds will be punished on your flesh, yours will be punished on your daughter's." He reached up his left sleeve, withdrew a flat photo, took it by a corner, and skimmed it at Miowee.
She caught it, sat gazing down at it, her face expressionless. Shadtih got to her feet and went to look over the streetsinger's shoulder at the picture. The daughter was a pretty child, seven, perhaps eight, with her mother's coarse black hair and intensely blue eyes; the way she was scowling from the print, she also shared her mother's temperament. Shadith could see almost nothing of the room the child was in, it was a featureless out-offocus blur. Deliberately so, she thought. Though she knew Miowee wouldn't welcome her sympathy, she closed her hand on the singer's shoulder, just to let her know she was there if she was needed. She looked up, met Makwahkik's streaky gaze. Oh, you miserable buuk! You and Ginny deserve each other, If there's ANY way I can make you hurt, I'll leap at it.
The Nish'mok got to his feet. "Exquisite little creature, hard to believe she's yours. It'd be a sad thing to scar that delicate skin. Perhaps we wouldn't have to, I know a certain person here in Iril who'd find her enchanting. For a while, at least." When he reached the door, he turned. "Singer, your training begins this day, the first hour after noon. The two of you will be escorted to the Kisa Misthakan where you'll be measured for your robes, then taken to the Choirmaster and the Paleka Kitskew. Be diligent, Singer, or your companion will suffer for it."
"I want my harp."
"I don't like the tone of your voice, Singer. Must I already have your surrogate punished?"
"Don't be a bigger fool than you were born to be. Push me too hard and I say hell with it, find yourself another Avatar."
"Push me too hard and I might."
Shadith shrugged. "My pleasure. I hereby resign."
"cipapiu,
"Yes, Makwahkik Sa-pe." A slight man with dead eyes moved around the Nish'mok and crossed to Shadith; he put his gun to her head and waited for the order to shoot.
"There's only one way to resign, Singer. Say the word and,the thing is done."
"I've a feeling I'd make one hell of a mess out of your plans if I said yes; wouldn't do my plans much good either… hnun… alive is marginally better than dead. I'll be polite in public, in private's another thing altogether. That enough?"
"Now that you've got that out of you, shall we proceed?"
"My harp."
"No. I don't want you wasting your time with it."
"I won't waste time with it, but I want it."
"I'll consider it. After today's session is finished. Be diligent, Singer and you'll get your reward."
WATCHER 10
Jotting angry impatient notes on his scratch pad, Makwahkik listened to the tiny insect voices, his face growing grimmer and grimmer.
… a play. A drama. All you Kiskaids
… turn and twist for the amusement of an audience you'll never see…
… Asteplikota told me about the plague
… he did it, him sitting up there now
… it was him planted plague on you…
… Ginny's stuck his thumb in your rebellion and he's still beavering away on both sides…
… Ginny's afraid of them… I'm afraid
… because of us… as soon as he gets the pictures he wants.. boom!.. Good-bye Kiskal
Makwahkik stopped the playback, slapped down the intercom toggle.